NEW SCARE CITY

It's a fictional streetscape we wander, here, a metropolis whose buildings, boulevards, and back alleys are in a constant state of flux. This is every place, and yet, no place at all - a city of dreams and a dream of a city.

Here, we explore the life and work of Ivan Illich and his circle of collaborators. There's no comprehensive index to the articles published, but we invite you to use the Search box, to the left, and to explore the Archive links that appear at the bottom of each page. Comments are welcomed.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Over at a blog called Design Dialogues, a post entitled Convivial Design for the American Breakdown argues that the current worldwide economic collapse has opened the door to greater "conviviality" in industrial design. Conviviality, of course, is the term Ivan Illich coined in his book Tools for Conviviality to describe a modern but de-professionalized, non-industrial organization of society.

Today's economic crisis, the piece asserts, looks like the one that nearly 40 years ago Illich saw as both imminent and inevitable. As economic "growth grinds to a halt," Illich is quoted, "people will lose confidence not only in the major institutions but also in the miracle prescriptions of the would-be crisis managers. The ability of present institutions to define values such as education, health, welfare, transportation, or news will suddenly be extinguished because it will be recognized as an illusion."

And so, with the U.S. economy clearly in a shambles right now, writes Peter Jones of Toronto, "there is something different, something truly timely in Illich’s Convivial Tools notion. ... Let's return ... to a process of human-scale cultural design. This means for us to 'invert the present deep structure of tools' in order to 'give people tools that guarantee their right to work with independent efficiency.'

Alas, we see little chance of the current situation, as dire as it is, causing any such inversion or the "true flipping of consciousness" that Illich had looked forward to. "The crisis I have described as imminent is not a crisis within industrial society," he wrote in Tools, "but a crisis of the industrial mode of production itself." Sure, lots of people are starting their own businesses, some of them craft-oriented, and more people are riding bicycles, but there's no widespread disillusionment with or rejection of industrialism. Newly-minted "consultants" still make their living helping industrial corporations, there's barely any protest over the U.S. occupation of Iraq (after all, millions of non-convivial cars need fueling every day), and the debate over "universal health care" concerns only how to divvy up access to industrialized, anonymously delivered medical services, not how to dismantle that system.

Now, we're quite sympathetic to blogger Jones' hope for more conviviality, and pleased to see him bringing that still-important book to people's attention. (And like Jones, we've held on to our stack of Whole Earth Review, aka Co-Evolution Quarterly, magazines all these years.) But Jones is, we have to point out, one of any number of people we've run into who refer to Illich's notion of conviviality as especially inspiring in their work as designers of various products, urban landscapes and, especially, information systems. For the most part, these believers in conviviality are sincere, but they miss the point of Illich's argument. And more important, they are quite unaware of the radical directions that Illich took in his thinking about tools and technology after Tools appeared.

To cut to the chase: By the late 1980s, Illich concluded that after lasting some 800 years, the epoch of "tools" and instrumentality was suddenly drawing to an end. Increasingly and with unexpected rapidity, the world was coming to be perceived and conceptualized primarily in cybernetic terms - as a hierarchy of self-regulating systems, that is. Suddenly, information, feedback loops, inputs, requirements, probabilities, risk factors, and needs were the keywords of the day. And in contrast to working with traditional tools, people don't use systems. If anything, systems use people. Illich understood that once people themselves are conceived of as mere systems, struggling for survival in the larger, global "ecosystem," then people no longer exist. And without people, or humans, in the traditional sense, there can be no "convivial" tools. And there certainly are no convivial systems.

Illich originally defined the term "tool" fairly broadly, including everything from hammers and radios to wheelbarrows and cars to hospitals and schools. The problem was that that in their modern form, many of these tools had become either overly professionalized, thus making them scarce and unavailable to the majority of people, or so over-powered as unavoidably to infringe on the commons and on the freedom and autonomy of others. Most medicines, for instance, were administrable only by highly-trained doctors. Some were quite dangerous, but mostly this restriction stemmed from doctors having erected a set of self-serving laws and regulations that kept those substances - and similarly, most medical procedures - out of the hands of non-doctors. The automobile, meanwhile, tended to exacerbate inequality, rearrange the landscape, pollute the air and ground, and deny people everyday the use of streets and their legs. Convivial alternatives would be teaching paramedics, or perhaps even everyone, how to use certain medicines and procedures, and the bicycle as the main form of transportation. Schools could be convivial tools, too, noted Illich, perhaps their most stinging critic, as long as attendance was not made not compulsory.

Like virtually all thinkers of the time, Illich conceived of tools as being quite distinct from the person wishing to use them. Traditionally, a person can pick up their choice of tool, use it in some way, and then put it down. Illich coined the neologism "distality" to describe this fundamental separation of user and tool.

Systems, in contrast, do not exhibit any such distality. One cannot pick up or put down a system, whether it's a computer system or the medical system. Instead, the system incorporates, or inscribes, each person, turning her into a mere element of the larger entity. Gregory Bateson, a biologist and one of the founding fathers of cybernetics and systems theory, saw a simple but complete system in a blind man walking with his cane down a sidewalk, the three elements connected to each other materially and by informational feedback loops. The cane tapping the pavement creates sounds which the man's ears and brain analyze to determine his position and identify possible obstacles. His mind uses the sounds and echoes to control the muscles that move his feet as well as those in his arm and hand that make the cane tap the sidewalk. Likewise, Bateson said, a lumberjack swinging an ax at a tree trunk can be treated as a system.

It was in his continuing examination of the "medical system" that Illich became aware of how the systems view was starting to eclipse that centered on tools. Here's how his close collaborator Barbara Duden describes it:

When Ivan wrote [Medical] Nemesis in 1975, he had not yet understood [...] that importing terms plucked from information sciences and cybernetics to other disciplinary fields actually undermined his goals. The book, like some of his other early works, was full of categories taken from information technology and its systemic reference system. It was only in the late 1980s that he stopped short and began to feel uneasy about what he had written, thanks to the Greek mathematician Costas Hatzkiriaku. He convinced Ivan that concepts bound up with the computer did not work as metaphors, for their substance and form are indivisible. Using computer terms as such inevitably ends up treating the human being as a programmable component in a system, even if this was not an author’s intention. “When process becomes substance” - this would be the most fitting definition - then concepts tied to the language of programming would inform everything described in this way cybernetically. Our uniqueness as humans would essentially be “deleted.”

The two sides of this watershed can be seen in Illich's discussion of the term "needs." In Tools, he was fairly comfortable in speaking about needs. What he didn't like was that increasingly needs were defined by experts and professionals and this condemned most people to passively consuming industrially-produced goods and services that were, by definition, scarce. Yet, as a term, "needs" still retained a certain humanity, a glimmer of individuality and desire:

Individuals need tools to move and to dwell. They need remedies for their diseases and means to communicate with one another. People cannot make all these things for themselves. They depend on being supplied with objects and services which vary from culture to culture. Some people depend on the supply of food and others on the supply of ball bearings.

People need not only to obtain things, they need above all the freedom to make things among which they can live, to give shape to them according to their own tastes, and to put them to use in caring for and about others. Prisoners in rich countries often have access to more things and services than members of their families, but they have no say in how things are to be made and cannot decide what to do with them. Their punishment consists in being deprived of what I shall call “conviviality.” They are degraded to the status of mere consumers.

By the early 1990s, Illich could look back on needs. His chapter in The Development Dictionary (1992, edited by Wolfgang Sachs), was titled Needs but wound up its argument with language like this (p.98):

In the 1970s, experts presented themselves as servants who helped the poor become conscious of their true needs, as a Big Brother to assist them in the formulation of their claims. This dream of bleeding hearts and blue-eyed do-gooders can today be easily dismissed as the nonsense of an age already past. 'Needs', in a vastly more interdependent, complex, polluted, and crowded world, can no longer be identified and quantified, except through intense teamwork and scrutiny by systems specialists. And in this new world, the needs discourse becomes the pre-eminent device for reducing people to individual units with input requirements. [emphasis in original]

When this occurs, homo economicus is rapidly recognized as an obsolete myth - the planet can no longer afford this wasteful luxury - and replaced by homo systemicus. The needs of this latter invention metamorphose from economic wants into system requirements, these being determined by an exclusivist professional hegemony brooking no deviation whatsoever. The fact that many people today already recognize their systemic requirements principally argues the power of professional prestige and pedagogy, and the final loss of personal autonomy. ... people are turned into abstract elements of a mathematical stasis. The latest conceptualization of these abstract elements has been reached recently through the reinterpretation of the common man, who is now seen as a fragile and only provisionally functioning immune system always on the brink of breakdown. ...

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Without a doubt, Ivan Illich’s most widely read and influential book is Deschooling Society, published in 1970. It brought Illich to the attention of a mass audience, its handful of essays - first appearing in Saturday Review and The New York Review of Books - adding much fuel to the then-raging discussion about the “education crisis.”

Illich’s main interest was to warn so-called developing nations in Latin America and elsewhere of the troublesome myths, realities, symbolic fallout, and social effects of compulsory schooling, as evidenced in the modern, industrialized nations. Schools, he argued, tacitly trained people to be consumers and worse, to believe that the only knowledge worth having was knowledge taught by professionals. School confused means and ends and was essentially a big lottery in which everyone was forced to participate but from which only a tiny few actually benefitted. The opportunity still remained, he argued, for non-industrialized, non-consumption-intensive nations, whether run with a socialistic bent or not, to opt out and take a different route than building service-oriented economies. These nations could avoid the social inequities and tremendous costs of the industrialized model.

How Illich and Deschooling were received in Brazil, Columbia, Bolivia or Nicaragua, for instance, we can't say. We were not there and we don't read Spanish, for example. But up North, so to speak, educational activists and theorists found the book tremendously stimulating. Many educational activists relished its radical arguments. And Illich’s book was, and continues to be, a major inspiration for the homeschooling movement, as well as for the closely-related unschooling movement, despite the fact, often overlooked by those familiar only with the book's title, that it doesn’t even mention, much less endorse, either idea. Illich called for a society whose tools were such that compulsory schooling would not be necessary - convivial tools, he called them, the use of which people could learn from each other, with no need for professionals.

As we see it, the issues that Illich raised in this illuminating little book have never demanded more attention and discussion than they do right now. Compulsory schooling, in all its forms, is upon us as never before, and not simply because of No Child Left Behind (NCLB), shrinking school budgets, or rising college tuitions. More troubling, by far, is the escalating intensity and broadening scope of schooling that the response to climate change engendering.

As currently formulated and described by politicians and scientists - the Al Gore crowd, we might call them - solutions to the problem of “global warming” call for people to conceive of themselves in radically new ways: less as persons who live locally and remain rooted in the soil beneath their feet and more as global citizens with global responsibilities. And it’s that change of mind and redefinition of self that will, in turn, require schooling and regimentation on an unprecedented scale. The effort will aim to “educate” not only youngsters as formal students but all persons pretty much all the time - at home, at work, at the doctor’s office, at church.

To see why this will be so, look at how Illich came to think about his own book: As popular and piercing as its critique certainly was, Deschooling did not fully capture the man’s thoughts about education, which continued to evolve. Even as the book neared publication, Illich foresaw that his argument was about to cause “unwanted side effects.” By attacking the assumptions that underlay traditional schooling as harshly as it did, his critique, he saw, would almost certainly cause the educational system to defend and consolidate its power. How? By changing and redefining itself. No longer would schools, as traditionally understood, be the sole provider of education. Now, the whole world would be turned into a professionally-administered classroom. Illich recalled to David Cayley, in the book Ivan Illich in Conversation (p.73), that

... nothing would be worse than to believe that I consider schools the only technique for creating and establishing and anchoring in souls the myth of education. There are many other ways by which we can make the world into a universal classroom.

It was Wolfgang Sachs, then a student of Illich’s in Germany, who Illich says first warned him that as prescient and penetrating as Deschooling’s arguments may have been, Illich was “barking up the wrong tree.” As Illich told Cayley, Sachs and fellow students

claimed that by making so much of the unwanted side effects of compulsory schooling, I had become blind to the fact that the educational function was already emigrating from the schools and that, increasingly, other forms of compulsory learning would be instituted in modern society. It would become compulsory, not by law, but by other tricks like making people believe that they are learning something from TV or compelling people to attend in-service training, or getting people to pay huge amounts of money in order to be taught how to prepare better for intercourse, how to be more sensitive, how to know more about the vitamins which they need, how to play games, and so on.

Sachs was right, of course, as can be seen in the subsequent rise of major industries devoted to such notions as adult education, continuing education, lifelong learning, and on-the-job training. Every activity, from sports to cooking to remaking one’s persona so as to sell more effectively, has been made the subject of “self-help” books, training classes, and electronic courseware authored by self-proclaimed experts. Just look at all the crap, most of it made from unearthly plastic, that’s sold under the rubric of “educational toy.”

And don’t forget the continual bombardment of advisories in the newspapers, monthly magazines, and nightly television programs urging us to submit regularly to a growing list of medical tests - tests whose hidden curriculum, to borrow a key phrase from Deschooling, is to have us conceive of ourselves and our bodies in terms of arcane measurements: pressure levels, chemical ratios, genetic risk factors, and so forth. In short, we are our medical charts, described and understood in terms defined by professionals.

Right now, Planet Earth is coming to be conceived widely in a similarly new way, too - as a self-contained system that must be managed intensively and on an unprecedented, all-encompassing, global scale. “Today’s ecology,” Sachs writes, “is in the business of saving nothing less than the planet. That suggestive globe, suspended in the dark universe, delicately furnished with clouds, oceans, and continents, has become the object of science, planning, and politics.”

And so, too, are the people living on this planet-turned-computer-guided-spaceship objects of planning. The modern, industrialized conception of the human being is as a collection of bodily systems - endocrine, reproductive, digestive, immune, and so forth - that can be monitored, analyzed, tinkered with, and manipulated in the name of health. And this same line of cybernetic thinking leads, as well, to the human being as a whole being understood as merely one form of sub-system struggling for survival in the larger, ultra-competitive ecosystem where scarcity - particularly scarcity of energy - rules. So, as Planet Earth succumbs to management on an unprecedented scale, with enormous computer simulations fed torrents data flowing in from vast webs of sensors on land, in the oceans, and orbiting in space, can there be any question that people - as individuals and as abstract populations - will require intensive management and planning, as well?

The emerging vision of “technocratic environmentalism,” Sachs notes, understands the situation like so: “As a global species we are transforming the planet. It is only as a global species - pooling our knowledge, coordinating our actions and sharing what the planet has to offer - that we may have any prospect for managing the planet’s transformation along the pathways of sustainable development.”

What’s entirely missing in most discussions, however, is any consideration of limiting or even reversing economic growth - the growth that gives rise to climate problems in the first place. Instead, we’re told that the management of the global ecosystem will depend on figuring out how much growth this system can sustain without collapsing. In 1989, the Scientific American boldly explained it in terms that Dr. Strangelove might have uttered to his audience in the War Room:

Two central questions must be addressed: What kind of planet do we want? What kind of planet can we get? How much species diversity should be maintained in the world? Should the size or the growth rate of human population be curtailed? How much climate change is acceptable?

The point being that economic growth and escalating consumption will continue in this managed world, and schools, where people are tacitly taught to consume, will continue as well.

For centuries, notes Sachs, Western society has sought to control Nature. But, just in case anyone missed it, this has led to unpleasant and unpredictable consequences. And so, from now on, “the purpose of global environmental management is nothing less than control of a second order; a higher level of observation and intervention has to be installed, in order to control the consequences of the control over nature. Such a step becomes the more imperative as the drive towards turning the world into a closely interelated and expanding economic society continues unabated.”

In short, economic growth and development, which have historically progressed hand in hand with compulsory schooling, are hardly likely to disappear. And given that this growth and development will need to be managed within a most-demanding set of constraints, won’t the schooling of the people involved need to be more intensive, as well?

Assuming that economic growth proceeds, this will see more of the world’s population join the “developed” world. In turn, more schooling will be required to enable society to reproduce itself, especially as survival and maintaining sustainable growth come to depend on ever-more intensive and technical management of the biosphere. People living at a traditional subsistence level have no need for schooling as Illich saw it, but people living in a market-intensive, industrialized way cannot get by without intensive and compulsory schooling. Economies don’t grow without the people involved being taught to consume and to get with the program.